


Sick Day

by glorious_spoon



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Banter, Friendship, Gen, Hangover
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 11:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13612845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: He really should have just taken a sick day.





	Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr prompt-fic; originally posted [here.](http://glorious-spoon.tumblr.com/post/170614436596/agent-carter-jack-has-a-hilariously-bad-day)

Things had started going wrong the moment he got out of bed.

Okay, if he was going to be honest with himself (he usually tried not to be), things had started going wrong the night before, when he’d had at least three too many celebratory whiskey sodas and left both his wallet and his umbrella at some dive bar two blocks from the SSR headquarters. Some understanding person had apparently poured him into a cab, and then paid for the cab, so at least he’d managed to sleep off three quarters of the hangover in his own apartment instead of in the gutter, but so far that was just about all the day had going for it.

He’d slept in his suit, which was wrinkled beyond repair; his eyes were bloodshot and his hair was a disheveled wreck. And according to his watch, he was already ten minutes late to work; Carter would never let him hear the end of this.

Jack rubbed a hand over his face and went to see about cleaning himself up until he vaguely resembled a professional human.

* * *

As expected, Carter gave him a knowing look when he finally stumbled in, brows arched, painted lips pursed in something halfway between annoyance and amusement. She looked infuriatingly bright-eyed, especially considering that she’d been matching him drink for drink the night before.

“Jack,” she said. “So good of you to finally grace us with your presence.”

Jack pointed at her, mustering a halfhearted glare. “Don’t start, Carter.”

“If it would suit you better, I’m sure we could all arrange to start our workdays at—” She consulted her watch pointedly. “—half-past ten in the morning.”

Jack leaned on the door to his office, digging in his pocket for his keys. “You do remember that I’m your boss, right?” And then, “Aw, goddamn it, you gotta to be kidding me. Pardon my French.”

“Forgot your keys?” Carter asked, and her expression was entirely amused now. Jack considered ordering her back to work, then considered that Peggy Carter had never followed a single order that didn’t suit her in all the time they’d known each other and the last thing he needed right now was to attract the attention of any of the other agents nearby.

“Must have left them on the counter,” he admitted. “Darn it. I guess probably one of the gals has a set of spares around somewhere…”

That would mean opening himself up to the gentle (and not-so-gentle) mockery of the secretarial staff, but there was nothing for it. All his active case files were on his desk, behind his locked office door. He was really starting to think he ought to have just taken a sick day.

Carter shook her head. “My goodness, Jack, you are hopeless. There’s no need for that.”

She patted at her hair for a moment, and then, before Jack could ask what she was doing, came away with a hairpin, which she untwisted as she approached the door. As he watched in bemusement, she bent over the lock, fiddled with it for all of thirty seconds, and then stood up in satisfaction as the tumblers clicked. “There. You’re welcome.”

“Do I want to know where you learned that?” It was more than a little worrying, he thought, how easily she’d managed it. Not that he didn’t trust Carter, but still…

“A lady never tells,” she informed him, smiling, and pushed the door open.


End file.
